


Lips, Tongue, Teeth, That's All.  1/1.

by punky_96



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 17:22:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10667310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punky_96/pseuds/punky_96
Summary: Miranda thinks she is drawn to the power, the age, but Emily’s mouth does all the talking.





	Lips, Tongue, Teeth, That's All.  1/1.

  
_**Lips, Tongue, Teeth, That’s All**_  
  
Reaching up her middle finger quickly swiped against the dark pink of the tip of her tongue. Damp fingertip reached down flipping the next page in the folder. A sigh escaped from red lips followed by another trip of the fingertip to the tongue. In the outer office the usually clipped voice stuttered over a word overcome with a wave of desire flooding in from visual stimuli. She knew what those lips tasted like, the tingle of that finger tip teasing her lips, and the delicious warmth of those lips pressed hard against her own. It had only happened three times, but like any other addiction, once was all it took sometimes. The fingertip was licked and then several pages were stroked in quick succession. Pursed lips sent a tremor right to her lower lips as she watched her boss’ movements.  
  
Sighing again the silver haired vixen looked up over her glasses calling out.  
  
She didn’t hear her name, but she knew how those lips felt as they said the word. She rose biting her own lip at the delicate heat collected between her legs. Toying with the arm of her glasses against her lip, she thought that her boss was likely torturing her. It may have been unintentional, but as soon as she figured out the truth, she would be sure to use it to her advantage. The only thing that forced her to focus was the thought of Miranda letting her mouth truly do the talking. Notes were studiously taken, even when that meant looking away from Miranda, because Emily’s lips were still tingling from a week ago.  
  
Eyeing her assistant as she walked out of the office, Miranda marveled at the girl. She was the right kind of young—submissive, skilled and aware of her body. It delighted her that Emily had surpassed her expectations. It would seem that underneath all that snippiness, Emily craved the power and perhaps even the distance that age put between them. Rarely had Miranda found someone to mirror her own desires just from the other side of the coin. She had high hopes for the girl who was so eager to please, but she wondered if she would fall short just outside the range of sycophant.  
  
Miranda Priestly couldn’t have been more profoundly wrong.  
  
Sure, Emily was snippy, loved power, thought that Miranda was a silver fox, and had enough ambition to follow in Miranda’s wake, but none of those were why she had so willingly kissed back that night more than four months ago under the mistletoe the twins had pinned above the front door. It had just been a kiss on the cheek slightly misaimed by eggnog that had delightfully morphed into one press of lips instead of cheek, a second, followed by a third which was returned to the point that Miranda’s arms had come up of their own volition and pulled Emily just inside the door out of sight. Emily loved all of those things about her mentor and boss, but what she really wanted was Miranda’s mouth, and to use her mouth on Miranda. There were times that Emily felt her whole body was wired directly to her mouth, or at least the pleasure sensors in various strategic locations were. Like her fingertips, the folds of her sex, that tender little bud, and those twin peaks under her lace bra—they were all wired either to her lips or to respond most to Miranda’s lips. She hadn’t tested the later part of that theory, but she was more and more certain of it when they had nearly gone for it in her office after the New Year’s party.  
  
The Big Fashion 4 had severely eaten away their schedules, but neither of them could resist the romance of Paris.  
  
Emily thought that maybe that was it. She vowed to move on from Runway and make herself move on after that. There might not be another Miranda, but that didn’t mean she had to go hungry for love either. Eight weeks had gone by and Emily was sad that her desires had increased exponentially—the desire to feel her lips against Miranda’s, of Miranda’s fingertips or tongue teasing against them, or to let her mouth explore further. She had approached Miranda in her study at the end of the week, saying it was time for her to move on from Runway, that she loved it, but through she could do more. Miranda had released her, only to pull her back against her desk silencing her confusion with hot lips pressed against hers. Emily had lost two buttons in that encounter and she had nearly swallowed three of Miranda’s while her lips, tongue and teeth undid Miranda’s with her hands in her hair, her head thrown back exposing her neck and whimpering Emily’s name.  
  
Emily reveled in the smoothness of the blouse against her mouth as it was contrasted with the soft heat of Miranda’s chest and the scratchy lace of the La Perla bra. Thinking of the damp heat soaking through the fabric of the panties, Emily shuddered against Miranda as her tongue stumbled at the thought of just one lick against that texture. She wondered if Miranda would be wet and swollen enough that her folds would be easily accessible around the thin fabric. Her fingers floundered as she tried the remaining buttons of Miranda’s blouse delighting in the thought of slow licks that took in every texture from the taste of Miranda’s arousal, the smell of her sex, the tickle of intimate hairs against her lips and tongue as well as the fabric giving way to her tongue and then the flexing of those inner muscles against the tongue she was then biting in an effort to concentrate. It was sensory overload.  
  
The phone rang. The elegant phone that looked more like a movie prop than a working device trilled its call to action. Miranda had stilled her motions and reached with a floundering hand until she had knocked it off the cradle with a thud dancing across the desk. She had half turned away from Emily who was already wiping her drool from her lower lip with a steady thumb and forefinger. Miranda snatched the earpiece up exasperated with the interrupted moment as much as the clumsy answer that would be obvious to whoever was calling. Emily watched as Miranda pursed her lips then bit her thumb between the two joints. She wanted Miranda to bite her while she came.  
  
It was clear that wouldn’t be that night. Miranda was rushing off then, something about Cassidy’s allergy to jalapenos and the hospital. At the door she stopped Emily, ‘Serve your two weeks,’ she said, ‘we’ll figure this out.’ Her fingers had cupped Emily’s chin, her thumb trailing across her lips. Emily was in heaven and then Miranda kissed her again, slow and full of promises of more. She was in wherever it was that people from heaven went to when they went to heaven.  
  
That was two weeks ago. Today was her last day and she had spent the whole day thinking about her mouth and Miranda, and Miranda’s mouth and well, that was really as far as she ever got. Because, really what else was there? Her new job didn’t start until Monday and it was at Seventeen. It wasn’t Runway, but it was right in her skill set. The editor was the youngest on the block, which Emily thought was on purpose. It made her smile, but Miranda needn’t have worried. A mouth had not captivated her like this since Uma in Kill Bill. It wasn’t like she had been starving—after all her mouth brought her all kinds of pleasure anyway, it’s just that it was so much better with Miranda’s mouth too.  
  
Having reached for the impossible six times just since lunch, Emily returned to her desk hoping that the new girl would make it. So far she had tottered but not fallen completely and Nigel seemed to like her for some reason. It really wasn’t her problem anymore. Emily rolled her chair to where she could spy on Miranda. It was unfortunate, but the carpet had dipped just slightly where the wheels rested in the spy spot. She’d be sure to leave a note for maintenance to clean the carpets. It wouldn’t do to give the new girls any kind of advantage. Pleasing Miranda was exclusively her job, even if it wasn’t her Runway job anymore. Watching Miranda she hoped for some kind of sign that it would be her job in the off hours.  
  
“Emily.” Finally she had been summoned. Eagerly she hopped up from her desk, the chair still spinning while she was halfway to Miranda’s desk. “Your last task will be to deliver the book.” Miranda wickedly smiled at her as she licked her upper lip with the gentle tip of her dark pink tongue. Her blue eyes twinkled as she leaned forward pressing her legs together against her arousal and biting her bottom lip for the briefest of seconds before murmuring, “If that pleases you.” Emily nodded immediately her eyes not looking up into Miranda’s even once. Fighting a smile, Miranda sent her off, “That’s all.”  
  
Turning away Emily delighted in the feeling as she licked her lips thinking, ‘That’s NOT all.’  
  
 **Fin.**  
  
x


End file.
